If you have to choose between something that has form and something that doesn’t, choose the one without form

The rule “If you have to choose between something that has form and something that doesn’t, choose the one without form” is a piece of personal guidance offered at a moment of fear and uncertainty. Its force lies in the gap between its confident instruction and the woman’s immediate inability to tell which of her choices fits it: the speaker can offer a principle, but cannot make the choice for her.

The Rule and Its Origin

The speaker introduces the rule with a qualification: he is in no position to hand down advice, but follows a rule of his own whenever he does not know what to do. He describes it as a response to reaching a wall, a way to proceed when ordinary certainty has run out. In his formulation, the choice is not between two specified actions but between what has form and what does not; the rule directs him toward the latter.

When the woman asks whether he invented it himself, he confirms that he did, grounding it in his own experience. The principle is therefore neither presented as a universal doctrine inherited from someone else nor supported by a worked example. Its authority comes from the speaker’s claim that it has repeatedly worked for him, even when following it has been difficult at the time.

Advice in a Moment of Fear

The exchange begins with the woman saying that she is scared, sometimes so scared that she cannot think. A blue minivan arrives in the adjacent space, and a middle-aged couple emerge arguing over something described as pointless; after they leave, silence returns. The woman has her eyes closed. Against this brief interruption of ordinary life, the speaker offers his rule not as a solution to a named problem but as a way of meeting uncertainty itself.

The woman repeats the instruction back to him, retaining its central contrast between form and formlessness. Her repetition shows that she has heard and is considering it, but does not mean she has already accepted it as a usable answer. She immediately identifies the difficulty: if she had to make such a choice now, she does not know whether she could distinguish the two possibilities. The advice thus moves from a confident maxim to a practical question of perception.

Recognition and the Limits of Certainty

The speaker does not pretend that the distinction is obvious. He concedes that she may be unable to tell what has form and what does not in the present moment, then shifts the rule’s application into the future: somewhere down the line, he is sure she will face that kind of choice. The answer offers neither a concrete option nor a timetable. It leaves her with an idea she may have to recognize later, when the conditions of a decision become clearer.

When she asks how he can know this, he nods quietly and attributes his confidence to the special powers of an experienced gay man. The remark supplies a lightly comic turn to an otherwise earnest exchange, while leaving the rule’s underlying claim intact: experience has taught him how to navigate impasses, but it cannot spare another person the uncertainty of recognizing her own path. The principle is offered as a compass, not as a guarantee that choosing will be easy.